


In the Black Wind

by kafeiro



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Swearing, almost everything is implied, but it's sad Eggsy so that should be a given, not a happy little snippet here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kafeiro/pseuds/kafeiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is cruel.</p>
<p>With each day that passes, the memories of those you have lost fade. You can't clearly recall the sound of their barely suppressed laughter, the feeling of their breath against your skin, their scent as it greeted you at your bedside...</p>
<p>They only had a short time together, all too short, but the pain of it drifting away bit by bit seems to be dragging out.</p>
<p>There is, however, hope to be found with those who know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Black Wind

The first thing he forgot was his laughter.

In his memories it had been deep and honest, making the corners of his eyes crinkle and leaving a tangible mark of his mirth long after the laughter subsided. When he properly laughed it transformed his whole face and settled in the curve of his mouth, a light in his eyes. He'd only seen Harry laugh a handful of times before things went tits up. During his fairly frequent visits to the house, he'd had the pleasure to bear witness. It filled Eggsy's heart with warmth and he'd longed to be the cause of many more like it in the future. In spite of the very real danger Kingsman presented, he'd felt relaxed, happy, and nothing but optimistic. He had purpose, security, and Harry right there, always believing in him.

It had taken him two months to forget, his days crammed with mission briefings and training, settling into his role as Galahad and dealing with the foul taste it left in his mouth, the painful ringing in his ears and dizzying rush of draining blood every time he heard the name. People gradually stopped asking him if he was alright after three weeks, whether due to expectations or lack of interest, or perhaps even due to the understanding that no matter how often he said that he was fine, or how hard he _tried_ to sound convincing, he really wasn't. Of course, there were those who knew better. On the odd days he actually had the time to go home to his mum and Rosie he'd told them about the man who'd chased Dean off, the man who gave him a very important job to do, who he'd never get to see again. She'd hugged him and said nothing as he quietly cried, just let him let go for a short time before handing him a cuppa and gently offering him anything she could. She never asked once if he was okay because, looking at her son properly - seeing the exhaustion in the tough front he put up, the hopelessness and confusion flooding through him when it finally broke down, she saw something she recognized all too well. Roxy was very delicate in her no nonsense approach to distracting and encouraging Eggsy to get on with it, keep the darkness at bay however he could. She came to him with news, for chats, to share lunch and generally just give him the choice of not having to be alone with his thoughts. He wondered if she'd picked up a little bit of her technique from Merlin who it seemed had elected to put his name forward for every single mission he could, and as persuasive as he was he managed to secure over half of them for Eggsy.

When Harry's laugh died he thought perhaps they were _too_ distracting.

 

By the third month his scent was lost, no longer that faint, ever present note in the air around him. It was infuriating as much as it was agonizing, and it took all his resolve to not break into the old place and just drown himself in Harry. He fought himself to tears trying to recall it, grasping at too few memories and tattered dreams of that scent in the morning, on the sheets beside him, in the black of night mingled with sweat and heat…

He couldn’t do it. Even if the consequences weren’t guaranteed to be grim, he didn’t think he could go back, see everything as it was but utterly devoid of the life it held before. It was stupid, but he couldn’t even face Mr. Pickle for the fear the thoughts of the young man who picked such a ridiculous dog, who cared for him so much that he had him stuffed, would flood forth unbidden. It didn’t stop him from making detours every so often on walks home, nor did it stop him from pausing near to the doorstep, looking up at the window to Harry’s room, contemplating putting some old skills to use and pushing away the image of the man stood there watching as he had before, as he’d do anything to see now.

As much as it stung, he was thankful that each visit gave him such a clear vision of him in the frame. Even as more details became blurred or faded completely, he was grateful that he could still conjure Harry so easily, if not completely. There was that worry in the forefront of his mind that it wouldn’t be long before he had to rely on photographs.

 

A few more months found him genuinely laughing, warm and loud and with abandon in the company of some of the younger agents, led by Roxy in a dramatic retelling of her latest mission fiasco that managed to draw in even Merlin for a few laughs. It didn’t even occur to Eggsy how remarkable and freeing it was, but his grin was wide and made his face a lovely pink that settled quite beautifully on his cheeks for the remainder of the night. Merlin took note and stayed after the others had shuffled out, Roxy being the last with her customary concerned shoulder squeeze and smile, managing a rare smile of his own. He collapsed into the chair across from Eggsy in a not-so-gentlemanly way, earning a huff of a laugh from the lad, and they sat in companionable silence for a while, Merlin furtively monitoring him. If Eggsy did notice (which he really should given the nature of his job) he wasn’t so bold as to bring it up, but after a moment the other man cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat.

“I know it’s getting on, but I don’t suppose you fancy a drink? I feel like there’s cause for quiet celebration here.” Eggsy cocked his head to view Merlin quizzically, searching for meaning. Merlin, as usual, was quite passive and betrayed little of his implication on his face beyond the brightness in his eyes. Eggsy shifted into a more polite posture and laughed softly again.

“Merlin, mate, not the best line you could’ve picked, ‘sides, you know I’m not that way inclined,” he said, a grin spreading across his face in keeping with his light tone. He rose from his seat and headed towards the cabinets, his proper answer to the question. Smiling more openly now, Merlin chortled and shook his head as he followed suit.

“Aye, not for me at least,” he agreed, receiving a _look_ from Eggsy that made him laugh even harder. “Oi, enough of that. No point in telling me I’m wrong or giving me lip.” He pushed forward and opened the cabinet, pointedly ignoring the scandalized face the boy was pulling and focusing on the assortment of bottles layered and lined up neatly within. “What’ll it be then?” The bottles scraped against the wood as they were slid across, clinking together light and sharp. As much as he wanted to fight, as much as he’d been built up to fight for so many years, Eggsy’s shoulders slumped and he became almost sheepish behind Merlin, sighing defeatedly.

“Think you already know, seein’ as how you know everythin’.” He said it with less cheek and more resigned acceptance and embarrassment, and apparently today was a very funny day for Merlin. He grasped the bottle he’d already cleared the way for and grasped two short, round glasses from the shelf above. While Eggsy continued shuffling behind him, forcing himself to recover from the awkwardness, he poured a measure of the amber liquid into each glass and set them on the table with a heavy thud, plonking the bottle just to the side within reach and gesturing towards the lot. Eggsy paused and just gave Merlin a look, wordlessly waiting for approval and receiving an eye roll and flick of the head in response. He huffed another short, sharp laugh and sipped from the nearest glass. It flooded him with warmth and smoke, buttery caramel and the hint of spices that took him back to the modest fireplace at his grandparents’ house, burning away through the winter nights while he lay on the rug before it, watching the mesmerizing golden dance just out of reach. There was a thought, a figure out of place in that scene, just on the edge of his mind and quickly swept away by Merlin’s intruding voice.

“It’s been a good while since I last had a dram of this stuff,” he mused with a sigh. Eggsy looked up at him and saw behind the relative ease and contentment a hint of _other_. It only took him a beat, one that his heart stuttered over and his face fell with, before it dawned on him. Merlin certainly noticed, but he wasn’t about to baby the boy. There was still cause for celebration, and this – even the bad, the painful, the _difficult_ – was part and parcel of that. “Brought this particular bottle back for him last time I went back home, _home_ home. He’d joked about my week off like I was heading off on some sort of holiday, asked me to send a postcard, bring back a souvenir. Cheeky bastard.” He smiled and chuckled, and Eggsy let a small smile grace his lips in spite of himself. “Should’ve really known I’d actually go through with it, knowing me. Aye, he got his postcard, one I made sure he’d never have the balls to show anyone else. I pictured his face when he got that through the post box and I knew it was worth it, would teach him a lesson about being a sod, and then picked up the scotch to take back.” Merlin swallowed, gaze unfocused, looking rather more tired than he had just minutes earlier.

“So you two were pretty close then?” Eggsy asked, guilt seeping into the edge of his tone. Merlin straightened up a little bit, sniffing and shuffling as though dragging himself back to the present.

“We were both candidates for Kingsman during a particularly rough time; they’d lost two agents in a rather catastrophic fuck-up and there was two spots in the roster that needed to be filled ASAP. Early on we became a sort of team and ultimately that played a big part in securing our places as Merlin and Galahad, so they’ve used that to everyone’s advantage ever since. Rather, they _did_.” Eggsy swallowed again and took unusual interest in the contents of his glass, breathing shallow.

“We got paired for a lot of missions, though I sort of expressed an interest in the background lark, the behind the scenes work. Harry was particularly vocal on my behalf because he knew I was keen and, well, he couldn’t keep his bloody mouth shut. The role of Merlin before hadn’t been primarily tech-based before given the focus of our Berlin division, but I guess the two of us were belligerent enough that it got to Arthur, arrangements were made, and I got to prove my use properly. Harry was probably even more chuffed about it than I was, though he did get a bit soft and tell me he’d miss our joint assignments.” His hand came to rest on Eggsy’s shoulder, gently squeezing in sympathy, trying to recapture his attention.

“I cared for him very deeply, Eggsy. Like losing a brother, and I know no matter what, that feeling isn’t going to change or disappear. I know you-” The younger man looked wounded, raw and vulnerable in just an instant, and he shrank back into the shame that hung from him like an ill-fitting coat, one that really did not suit. “I’m just saying it’s not easy, and I’m not going to promise it’ll get much easier later on, that it’ll stop altogether one day and you’ll be fine. You won’t. Some days you’ll wake up like there’s a knife in your chest and you’re bleeding out and dizzy. Some nights you won’t sleep for seeing the end on loop with nothing to block it out. There’ll be days where you don’t even give it a second thought and others when you’ll just be hit out of nowhere and it’ll cut twice as deep, but you’ll get by. You’ll get by and see the next day when you’ll remember and you’ll smile instead of crying.” All traces of guilt had dissipated and Eggsy was rapt in Merlin’s words, in the honesty that carried through his voice and that tiny spark of hope that he felt blossoming in his chest. He realized in a rush just how much this man must have seen and experienced and felt in his years as a Kingsman, the elation and terror, the triumphs and the crushing losses all too close to home. This was his life now too, something he had to understand but certainly not get used to. He could truly see that now, and he had both Merlin and Harry to thank for that.

“It’s clichéd but I’ll say it anyway,” he began, giving Eggsy’s shoulder another light squeeze and raising his glass nearer to his mouth, “Harry may be gone, but he’s not going to be forgotten, not a chance. No matter how fuzzy the specifics get, you’ll always remember, always have reminders and memories, see him round the place every now and then. He was too stubborn to just fuck off, so knowing that alone pretty much damns us to always have him upstairs.” A little prod to his head gave Eggsy an honest chuckle, and he raised his glass with a beaming grin and nod.

“Here’s to the eternal pain in our arses then,” he joked, gaze fixed on Merlin’s as the man smiled almost as broadly back, and as they both took a modest sip Eggsy felt a sense of relief that he’d not experienced since his training days. For the first time in months he had a sort of clarity, a sense of security and calm, and a proper understanding that he definitely wasn’t alone in the dark, and that it was going to be fine. And awful. And alright. And it was perfectly okay. There was that sense that Merlin truly did understand more than he’d actually said aloud, in the way he held himself, the way his eyes studied Eggsy’s face with a much gentler shine to them than he was accustomed to.

“You’re doing well, Eggsy, and you’re going to be alright.”

**Author's Note:**

> My beautiful housemate and I had a chat about the sad little things that come with losing loved ones, and naturally, as I am drowning in my Kingsman feelings of late, I penned this. I wasn't sure initially if it was going to end on a good note, but as the day went on I was filled with memories and yearnings and a hope that carried this ficlet through to its conclusion.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and that, even though it isn't a fix-it (and I do so love them, for I am definitely a believer that Galahad lives), it takes a bit of the sting out of that whole awful Kentucky business.


End file.
